


Golden Sun

by Redhead_Maniac



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Boondock Saints RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP, a bit too gentle and whimpery Norman maybe @_@, ooc, sappy things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redhead_Maniac/pseuds/Redhead_Maniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pure PWP: fucking, just fucking. No excuse. With a sprinkle of sappiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Too lazy to re-read and fix this, probably has some mistakes and weird wording. Oh well. You've been warned. Just needed to get the Flandus FEELS outta me system.

Sean fucks into him so slowly Norman thinks he's going to die. Every push of his hips forces Norman to tip forward and lean on his strained, trembling arms. Every muscle in his body screams in agony as Norman arches and pushes back on Sean's cock, gulping as a wide hand splays on his lower back, skin sticking to skin, owing to the hot sweat pooling there. Norman is drenched, his dark hair plastered around his face, long strands getting into his eyes, nose and mouth, but he doesn't give a single fuck about that. Not right now.

"More," he all but croaks, vocal cords ruined from obsessed moans and screams that were all but torn out of him by the man dominating his ass at the moment. Sean seems oblivious to his plea, making slow, steady inhales that are counted by Norman. It's easy, because every in is loud and strained, and every out comes in the form of a hiss.

Norman's cock is weeping, curved up to his stomach and turning an irate shade of reddish purple, and Reedus lets out a hoarse moan as his arms finally give out after another brutal thrust. He can't hold in a hitched whimper as he falls onto the pillow, the soft fabric almost suffocating him, and there are tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

Norman feels like he's about to burst, split open like a ripe fruit, juices violently splashing every which way and staining the pristine white ceiling.

"Sean, Sean," his chants are muffled and fervent, the blood in his temples crashing against the surface in nauseously hot waves. He constricts around Sean and moans again when the palm resting on his back slides up, gliding through the sweat all the way to his shoulder blades, stopping between them and pushing Norman further down into the covers.

"God, Sean, fuck, don't stop, please don't fucking stop now," there's not enough air to say anything more, so Norman turns his head to the side and parts his reddened, kiss-swollen lips, lashes fluttering up and down in quick succession as his vision begins to swim.

There's a hot air-balloon growing somewhere between his chest and his belly, and Norman isn't sure if he's gonna float up like one or throw up. He is fucked open, his body responding to every twitch of Sean's cock inside him, clenching around him in an attempt to reach the final goal.

And then Sean is leaning over him, covering his trembling body with his broad chest, arms wrapping around his hips and snapping them up, "Do it, come on."

Sean's voice is dripping with sex in his ear, dry lips brushing his skin, and Norman feels the scorching heat radiating off every part of the man.

He gives a broken shout and bucks as life, light, love spills out of him in a seemingly endless stream, the pictures behind his eyes blurring and rending asunder into a thousand glass shards, every one of them the brightest, most brilliant colour he's ever seen, before he collapses into the pitch darkness.

He hears Sean's groan through the fading lust-haze, feels the sticky and warm liquid dripping down his thigh. Sean presses closer, tugging Norman flush against his chest, and whispers sweet nothings into his sweaty hair. Norman catches "never letting you go", "fucking missed you", "mine", "pup", but it all doesn't matter. What matters is the warmth that seeps right through his bones and covers him a like a blanket, pushing out the sick fever and making him breathe again.

He closes his eyes and just lets himself be. Be held in Sean's arms and feel his soul let out a quiet, contempt sigh at having found the one who could take him head on and not break his damn fragile heart.

Who would've thought. Sean Fucking Flanery, his own personal sun.

And Norman fully plans to bask in its gentle, golden glow, if not for the rest of his life, then at least for now.


End file.
